Chapter 7
SEVEN
AINSLEY
The afternoon shift at Perdition is supposed to be easy.
That's what Tessa told me this morning when she handed me the apron and gave me a quick rundown of the POS system again. "Afternoons are chill," she said with a grin. "Day drinkers are mellow. You'll be fine."
And I was fine. For about two hours.
I'm wiping down the bar, humming along to the classic rock playing through the speakers, when I see it.
A dark sedan.
It pulls up slowly outside the clubhouse, just visible through the front window. Tinted windows. Out-of-state plates. It idles there for a moment, engine running, like whoever's inside is watching.
My entire body goes cold.
No.
My hands freeze on the bar towel. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I think it might crack them. The room tilts, and suddenly I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't move.
It's him.
Justin found us.
The rational part of my brain, the part that's been trying so hard to believe I'm safe here, screams that it could be anyone. A lost driver. A delivery. Someone looking for directions.
But the other part of my brain, the part that lived with Justin Williams for two years, the part that knows exactly what he's capable of, is louder.
He's here. He's going to take Owen. He's going to kill you.
My vision narrows. The edges of the room blur and darken until all I can see is that car. That goddamn car with its tinted windows and its idling engine and the threat it represents.
I can't breathe.
My chest is tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around my ribs and is pulling them tighter and tighter. I try to suck in air, but it won't come. My lungs won't expand. My throat is closing.
Owen.
I drop the towel and stumble backward, my hands shaking so violently I can barely grip the edge of the bar to steady myself. My legs feel like jelly. My skin is clammy, sweat breaking out across my forehead, down my spine.
Where's Owen?
He's in the backroom with Lucy. Safe. He's safe.
But what if he's not? What if Justin already got to him? What if,
"Ainsley?"
The voice is distant, muffled, like I'm underwater.
I blink, but I can't focus. The room is spinning. My heart is pounding so loud in my ears I can't hear anything else. My hands are numb. My fingers are tingling.
I can't breathe.
"Ainsley, look at me."
Hands on my shoulders. Warm. Firm. Grounding.
I flinch, jerking away, my back hitting the shelves behind the bar. Bottles rattle. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps that don't bring any oxygen.
"Hey, hey, it's me. It's Jax."
Jax.
I blink again, and his face comes into focus. Green eyes. Concerned. Intense. He's crouched in front of me, his hands hovering near my arms but not touching. Not forcing.
"Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
I shake my head. I can't. I can't do it.
"Yes, you can. Look at me. Just me. In through your nose."
He demonstrates, exaggerating the breath, and I try to follow. It's shaky. Broken. But a tiny bit of air gets in.
"Good. That's good. Now out through your mouth."
I exhale, and it comes out as a sob.
"Again. In."
I do it. Again. And again. Slowly, painfully, my lungs start to work again. The steel bands loosen just a fraction.
"That's it. You're doing great."
My vision clears a little more. I can see him now. Really see him. The concern etched into his face. The way his jaw is tight, like he's holding himself back from doing something.
"The car," I whisper, my voice hoarse and broken. "Outside. It's—"
"Knox is checking it out right now," Jax says, his voice calm and steady. "Guy was lost looking for some campground. Knox pointed him in the right direction."
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy.
"It wasn't him," I whisper.
"No. It wasn't him."
I close my eyes and press my forehead against my knees, my whole body shaking. "I thought—"
"I know."
"I couldn't breathe. I thought he was going to—"
"I know, Ainsley. But he didn't. And he won't. We've got you. Both of us. Nobody's getting to Owen. We've got eyes outside, we've got the doors locked, and we've got you."
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly.
But I've heard promises before. And they've all been broken.
"Come on," Jax says gently, offering me his hand. "Let's get you home."
Home. The cottage. Not the backroom.
I take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. My legs are still shaky, but I manage to stay upright. He keeps his hand on the small of my back as we walk, guiding me through the bar, past the few patrons who are pretending not to stare.
The drive to the cottage is quiet.
Jax drives while I sit in the passenger seat, my hands still trembling, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the landscape, and everything feels surreal, like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
When we pull up to the cottage, Jax kills the engine and turns to me.
"You okay?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm not okay. I had a panic attack because a car pulled up outside. That's the definition of a mess."
"That's the definition of trauma," Jax says, his voice firm. "And it's not your fault."
I don't know what to say to that.
He gets out and comes around to my side, opening the door and offering me his hand again. I take it, and he helps me out of the truck.
Inside the cottage, everything is quiet. Lucy must have brought Owen back to the backroom at Perdition. The thought makes my chest tight all over again.
"He's safe," Jax says, reading my expression. "Lucy's got him. She'll keep him there until we come back for him."
I nod, even though I'm not sure I believe him.
Jax guides me to the couch and sits me down, then disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water and hands it to me.
"Drink," he says.
I do, the cool water soothing my raw throat.
"I need to tell you something," Jax says, sitting down beside me.
"We're making some changes. Security changes.
Knox is going to upgrade the cameras around the property.
We're also going to change your schedule at Perdition, no more predictable shifts.
And I'm getting you a new phone. One that Justin can't trace. "
I look at him, surprised. "You think he's—"
"I think we need to be prepared for anything," Jax says. "I think we need to make sure you and Owen are as protected as possible. That's all."
I nod slowly. It makes sense. It's practical. It's grounding.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"You don't have to thank me," Jax says. "You're not alone in this, Ainsley. You're not alone anymore."
Later, after Lucy brings Owen back and I've held him for what feels like hours, Tessa, Lucy, and Hadley show up at the cottage with takeout and wine.
"We heard you had a rough day," Tessa announces, setting bags of food on the kitchen counter.
"I'm fine—"
"Bullshit," Tessa says, pulling out containers of Thai food. "You had a panic attack. You're allowed to not be fine. Now sit down and eat."
Lucy smiles gently and starts setting out plates. Hadley takes Owen from my arms and settles into the armchair with him, making silly faces that make him squeal and babble "Mama-mama-mama" in response.
We eat at the small dining table, and for a while, no one talks about what happened. Instead, Tessa launches into a story about the time she accidentally ordered fifty pounds of coffee instead of five.
"I didn't realize until they started delivering it," she says, her eyes wide. "Fifty. Fucking. Pounds. Cole thought I'd lost my mind."
Lucy snorts so hard she nearly spits out her wine.
"What did you do with it all?" I ask, surprised to find myself smiling.
"Gave it away," Tessa says with a shrug. "To the fire department, the police station, literally anyone who would take it. We were drinking coffee for months."
Hadley laughs. "That's the most Tessa thing I've ever heard."
"Right?" Lucy says. "Remember when she tried to make her own pasta and it exploded in the pot?"
"It didn't explode," Tessa protests, but she's grinning. "It... overflowed."
"It exploded," Hadley says firmly.
I find myself laughing, really laughing, for the first time since I got to the cottage. The sound feels foreign in my chest, but good. Right.
"I'm so sick of him stealing every good moment from me," I say suddenly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
The room goes quiet.
"Justin," I continue, my voice getting stronger. "I'm so sick of being terrified all the time. I'm so sick of him taking away moments like this, moments where I could just be happy and laugh with my friends. He doesn't get to do that anymore. He doesn't get to control me."
Tessa reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Damn right he doesn't."
"You're stronger than you think," Lucy says softly.
"You're going to get through this," Hadley adds. "We're going to make sure of it."
By the time they leave, it's late. Owen is asleep in his crib, and I'm sitting on the porch swing, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
There's a knock on the door, and I tense.
"It's just me," Jax's voice calls.
I exhale and stand, opening the door.
He's standing there in the fading light, his cut slung over his shoulder, his green eyes dark and intense.
"Hey," he says. "Just wanted to check on you."
"I'm okay," I say. And for the first time, I almost mean it.
He nods, but he doesn't leave. He just stands there, looking at me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze.
"Jax—"
"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I know I shouldn't. I know you've been through hell and the last thing you need is me complicating things. But I can't help it, Ainsley. I can't stop."
My breath catches.
"I'm not asking you for anything," he continues. "I just... I needed you to know."
I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.
So I do the only thing I can think of.
I step forward and kiss him.
The moment my lips touch his, the world stops.
For a second, neither of us moves. We're frozen, suspended in this moment, and I think maybe I've made a terrible mistake.
But then Jax's hands are on me.
One hand cups the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. The other wraps around my waist, pulling me against him. And he kisses me back.
It's desperate. Hungry. Like he's been holding back for so long and now he can't anymore.
His mouth moves against mine, demanding, claiming, and I melt into him. My hands grip his cut, holding on like he's the only thing keeping me upright.
For a moment, I let myself believe this is real. That I deserve this. That I can have this.
And then reality crashes back in.
What am I doing?
I pull away abruptly, stumbling backward, my hand flying to my mouth.
Jax stares at me, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and wild.
"I—" I start, but I don't know how to finish.
"Ainsley—"
"I can't," I say, my voice breaking. "I can't do this."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm broken!" The words burst out of me, raw and ugly. "Because I'm a mess and I don't know how to do this and I'm terrified that if I let myself want you, it's going to destroy me."
Jax takes a step toward me, but I hold up a hand, stopping him.
"Please," I whisper. "Just... please go."
For a moment, he doesn't move. He just stands there, looking at me like I've ripped his heart out.
And then he nods. "Okay," he says quietly. "But this isn't over, Ainsley. Not by a long shot."
And then he's gone.
I sink down onto the porch step, my whole body shaking, and press my fingers to my lips.
I can still feel him. Still taste him.
And God help me, I want more.
But I'm terrified of what wanting more means.